Issue 141, Winter 1996
I stepped over two weeks of May Anderson’s mail and around Charles’s vomit and into the living room and the foul air second crack at this, rolled her onto her back and found two thousand dollars. Jesus I thought and on Freshly Picked Coconut day, too.
I stepped over the grass that was three weeks high across a creaky wooden porch, through a screen door then past a wooden one with a couple of letters still stuck in the slot o er a pile of mail- bills, expired circulars from the grocery store catalogues- through a heavy stench over a puddle of hour-old vomit, down the hall into the living room into a stench e en heavier, over to the rug, where a stain the shape of May Anderson outlined her body.
I stepped with mud-stained work boots across grass that I mowed years ago for a quarter when five bucks as the going rate but Crazy ay was as old as Methuselah and how would she know the going rate and maybe she as stuck in chat time when she was being generous by paying a fourteen-year-o…